


The Story of Sir Boast-a-Lot

by NikkiJustTalk



Category: Merlin (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Slight Slash, the story of Sir Boast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NikkiJustTalk/pseuds/NikkiJustTalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Sir Boast-a-lot. Sir Boast-a-lot was brave, clever, and the best swordsman around...but when his fellow knights, and even his manservant John begin to doubt his stories of dragons and griffins, can Merlin save him from Arthur's blade?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Two years. Two years since his father died. Two years since he banished Gwen for her betrayal. Two years since Morgana left. And two long years, ruling the Kingdom of Camelot with Merlin at his side.

It's almost hard for him to admit, but he is ridiculously happy with his life. Arthur Pendragon is happy. Not happy because of a slaughtered sorcerer, a smile from a pretty maiden, a day off work, a plan gone well, or even a week without chaos. He's just happy. His circumstance has changed so much throughout his life that he almost forgets who he is half the time, teasing Merlin across the banquet hall instead of listening to the 'terribly exciting and exhilarating' stories the King opposite is telling him, and sneaking down to the kitchen late at night for the Cooks spiced wine, but he just doesn't care. He's the King, who's going to tell him off?

Well, Merlin tries. But he's not very good. Arthur usually ends up drifting away halfway through, muttering something about going to find Gaius for a hangover cure. And it was on one of those particular occasions, when he was seated uncomfortably on Gaius's rough, wooden bench, waiting for his headache cure to take effect, when he first noticed Sir Boast-a-lot.

Dark haired and pale eyed, Sir Boast had become a regular talking point amongst the other knights, having seemingly appeared out of nowhere but somehow shaming each and every one of them in a very immasculine battle of wit, childish jibes at the helm. Gwaine had suffered perhaps the worst verbal attack, having the scars of his fathers death written across the courtyard in a few short words, and the implications of his recent conquest apparently obvious around the torn hem of his new tunic.

But Leon's recent injuries had taken their toll on them all, and their sparring triumphs had suddenly dwindled to one good match a session. Arthur needed a knight, and here he was. A ready made warrior with credit to his name, and his own manservant to take care of him.

Despite having spent a night in the dungeons for his impromptu speech concerning the real relationship between the King and his manservant, he was granted an audience the next morning and went on to beat even Arthur himself in the joust. Proving himself to be worth of both sword and horse, he and his servant, John, were given accommodation in the smaller village outside the castle, a fully fledged Knight of Camelot in less than two days. Even Merlin was impressed;

'I can't believe Sir Boast beat you! No one ever beats you! And you haven't even punished him…'

'Sir Boast reckons you need a better horse…'

'I heard John telling Sir Boast that he definitely prefers the food in Camelot to Meldor…'

'Sir Boast doesn't seem to sleep much, do you think I should tell Gaius…'

And, although it took a while, and several 'gracious' apologies from John, Arthur and the Knights gradually began to accept Sir Boast as one of their own, even going as far to invite him to the tavern occasionally, and although he usually refuses, the previous night, after some gentle persuasion, he reluctantly agreed to go.

Which was how he ended up sitting next to the hopelessly oblivious Arthur, clutching his head and muttering soft curses under his breath.

'So…' Arthur murmured, having finally clued into the groaning presence beside him 'good night out?'   
Laughing slightly at the violent scowl thrown at him, he took another sip of water and said quietly 'Don't worry, you get used to it. The Knights, meaning Gwaine, have a rule that you can't judge a person until you've seen them drunk, so unless you did what is known as a Merlin, you'll be just fine'.

A thin eyebrow was raised at his comment, and his usually effusive companion said painfully 'What did Merlin do?'.

'Took one swig of ale, danced on a table and fell in a chicken coop…' a tiny quirk of the lips 'He then proceeded to make his way up to my room where he fell asleep on my floor, wearing nothing but the court jesters hat…'

'Oi!' both men looked up suddenly at the interruption, regretting the decision instantly as pain exploded behind their eyes, and unable to move, let alone complain, they let Merlin continue his rant. 'Arthur, you swore you'd never tell anyone about that! And it was more than one swig thank you! Gwaine forced about half the tavern down my throat, and Percival wasn't much better. Standing there all muscly and intimidating in front of the door. I had to stay! And it was your fault for making me go out with them anyway! You were all 'it'll be good for you. Talk to other people once in a while!' And I don't even remember the hat bit! You must've made it up…'

A loud groan from Sir Boast shut Merlin up immediately as he took in the tell-tale hangover signs, and, after reaching silently for a large wooden bowl on the side, he sat down next the man, checking his eyes and pulse as he did.

 

A few hours later the Knights had been summoned to the castle grounds for a mid morning training session, excluding Sir Boast, who'd been ordered to sleep off the suspected alcohol poisoning by a less than impressed Gaius and an utterly shame-faced John.

But Arthur had been called away to a meeting at the last minute, so the Knights were instructed to simply warm up and await his return, but it was an unusually hot day, and many of them were still a little sore from the previous night so had taken shelter in the armoury for a while, leaving Owain on look out whilst they talked. Unsurprisingly, the talk turned Sir Boast-a-lot.

'Did you hear him last night? Mouthing off about that griffin?'

'Griffin? He told me it was a bear!'

'Yeah, well I swear he said it was a dragon! Massive wings, he said! Teeth longer than his body!'

The others scoffed at Elyan's remark, muttering amongst themselves for a minute before Bedovere said challengingly; 'Where would he even find a dragon that size? Uther went and killed them all, didn't he?'

'Exactly! And did you hear what he said about the map thing? How he can tell who owned it, how long they've had it, and the route they've taken from a single look? I mean, that's impossible!'

'Impossible, no. Improbable, Sir Bedovere, yes' came a smooth voice from behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

Startled, the Knights spun round to face the Sir Boast, jaws slack at the sudden appearance of the loudly silent man.

There was a beat of quiet before Gwaine rose from his seat and said 'So, can you do it then?'

'Do what'

'The map thing?'

'What map thing?'

'The thing you told Bedovere about'

'Oh, that thing. Obviously'

'Show us then.'

'Get me a map then.'

There was a tense pause as both men locked eyes, daring the other one to contradict or question the order. 'Boys…' Johns low voice entered the room, and he quickly glanced around it, assessing the situation before laying a gentle hand on Sir Boast's arm.

The touch had broken his eye contact, loosening the atmosphere slightly, but it was shortly tightened again as an irate Arthur stormed in, demanding to know why his Knights were hiding in an armoury cupboard instead of waiting for him on the field.

Filing out, none of them spoke a word. This wasn't the first confrontation between the Knights and Sir Boast, but it was the iciest to date.

The training had been gruelling, and especially difficult as none of the Knights volunteered to fight with their new companion, forcing Arthur to do it himself. It only took him a few minutes before he had Sir Boast on his knees, but a vicious blow to the shin had the King sprawled ungracefully on the ground, at the mercy of his unrelenting opponent as he tried to regain his breath. Admitting a rueful defeat, he was helped to his feet and sent his men home for the night. Only Sir Boast remained, striding around the field, swinging his sword expertly as he called for John to fetch his armour for practice. With a small smile, Arthur turned his back on the pair and beckoned Merlin to follow him, a strange feeling of pride resting in his heart.

Merlin's heart, however, had clenched all the way through practice, watching the interactions between the Knights, the pointed comments and raised eyebrows, but worst of all, the utter oblivion on Sir Boast's face.

He didn't appear to have any idea that the men were talking about him, or of the divide forming in the group.

Merlin had heard half-snatched sentences from the conversation in the armoury and piecing together what happened, felt a sudden rush of protectiveness for the naive Knight, blindly walking into these social traps with no one to help him out of them. Watching the men walk away from the field and holding up two fingers to Arthur to symbolise two minutes, he dashed over to the Knight on the pitch, carefully avoiding the dramatic curve of the blade in his hands.

'Watch out, mate! Nearly took my eye out' he said with a laugh. He was rewarded with a quick scrutinizing before the Knight returned to his stance. He shuffled his feet awkwardly for a moment before saying 'Not much of a talker then…? That's alright, my mother says I could talk for Albion, so I can most certainly make up for it. And Arthur says…' 'And this would be Arthur Pendragon, yes?' Slightly stunned by the outburst, Merlin blinked owlishly and said 'Err…yes?' The man shot him a strange smile, but said nothing. 'Anyway, so I was just wondering if I could talk to you about…'

Suddenly Merlin was interrupted by a babble that was neither slow nor clear, but somehow managed to have a startling effect on him, shocking him into silence;

'You wish to talk me about the behaviour of the other Knights, their disbelief, their jealously. You want me to open up, to share this with you and allow you to help, because that's what you do. You help people.  
From what I can see you're a regular do-gooder around here, judging from the reluctance your master has to leave your side, and the trust placed in you by the Knights, but that's fairly obvious, why not go deeper? Your scarf, neckerchief, whatever, you always wear it, or a variation of it for no reason other than to cover up yourself against prying eyes, thus presenting an image of pride and innocence, but your shirt droops around the back of the neck, a problem easily solved by your charming friend Guinevere who, despite residing in exile for reasons yet undiscovered, you still manage to contact and visit regularly, oh and your sleeves are frequently rolled up, and not just for work, judging by the creases around the elbow, so you're obviously not that self conscious.  
You want people to see you so open, so vulnerable. You want to be noticed. Bit pathetic really, I had hoped you'd be blunter. It's sickeningly obvious from the light bruise on the underside of your lower lip that your affections have already been captured by a certain Royal who shall not be named as I do not fancy another night in the cells, so who do you want to be noticed by? The Knights? The servants? Highly unlikely, so that just leaves me. And why would you want me to notice your extraverted trust and openness unless you want me to talk? Well, looks you like you got your wish. I've talked. Now please leave me alone. I'm busy.'

After a few long minutes, the Knight turned round frustratingly, annoyed that the servant hadn't scurried away when he told him to, he found himself face to face with a deadly cold stare, and dangerously clenching fist. John was back. And he wasn't very happy. Again.  
He was stood next the stunned servant, awkwardly patting his arm and waving a cautious hand in front of his eyes, but when there was no response, he turned slowly to his friend, eyes dark with anger.

Taking a few deep breaths, he opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find a suitable chasten, but only managed to get as far as 'What have I…' before the servant jolted back to life, eyes finally darting away from the Knight, onto the man beside him and back again. He swallowed a few times before growling, quietly '...I only wanted to help.' and striding away into the darkness, anger slamming his feet into the grassy surface.

'What the bloody hell were you thinking? You do realise he's going to go and tell Arthur, don't you? I've told you again and again to stop! But you never listen! Never! Always showing off, telling these stories about dragons and griffins…What's the point?! One of these days, someone's going to get killed because of that big fat mouth of yours, and it certianly won't be me!'

His glare bore into the Knight's eyes furiously, breathing through his nose mutinously before he muttered 'I'm going in. Good night sire' And left Sir Boast-a-lot alone on the field.


	3. Chapter 3

As it happened, Merlin was not completely dead set on telling the King. There was nothing Arthur would've done about it anyway, really. Tell the nasty Knight off for upsetting his servant? Send him to the stocks for truth telling? 

'Arthur?' Stepping cautiously into the King's chambers, Merlin took a few careful glances around the room, noting with a frown his companions absence and was about to take a comfortable seat on the empty bed, the heat of the day having finally taken its toll on him, when a loud voice in the corridor burst through the silence of the room; 'Oh, don't be stupid, John, I was brilliant!'

Recognizing Sir Boast's exhilarated tones; the servant pointedly remained in the comfort of Arthur's chambers, casting a soft scowl at the open door and the figure looming behind it.

A tired voice stepped into the scene 'No, Sire. You weren't. You can't go mouthing off about this to people. They won't like it!' There was a loud snort before an obnoxious 'why not?'

The men had begun to walk away from the chamber door, leaving Merlin tiptoeing across the room to hear the final sentence, 'Because they won't believe it. You saw that with Gwaine and Elyan, and…Sire, wait, just hang on a minute. Boast!'

The Knight's heavy footfalls slowed from their aggravated pace as John continued, albeit in a gentler tone. 'Boast, you have to be careful here. Camelot is a different place to Meldor; these people are legends throughout Albion, their deeds, their wars, their mercy. But that doesn't mean they'll take mercy on …' 'On what?' There was a heavy pause. 'On someone they believe to be a liar.'

 

When Arthur strode in later that evening, having being pulled away after training to take care of a sudden drunken peasant in the courtyard, he was tired, hungry and unpleasantly hot, needing nothing more than a cool drink and a warm bath…and maybe a side of Merlin, just for good measure. But sadly no such luck.

'Oh no…' he sighed, throwing his chainmail roughly onto the bed and striding over to the skinny servant curled up on his windowsill. When Merlin turned sharply to face him in confusion, he ran a hand gently through the boy's hair, saying 'you've got that look on your face' resting his chin on his knees, Merlin muttered 'what look?'

'The look that tells me that all is not right in Merlin-world, that someone, somewhere, is hurting and my little idiot can't do anything about it.' With a small sigh, Merlin lifted his head and said quietly 'got it in one'. Arthur's fingers danced lightly at the back of Merlin's neck, dipping past the line of his scarf. 

'Tell me' 'I can't'. 'Merlin, tell me. Now.' There was a short pause before the servant pasted a bright, if slightly wonky smile on his face and chirped 'It's nothing. It's just…nothing. Probably just overreacting. Now, come on, let me run you a bath, you look exhausted…'

 

The next day was even hotter than the last, the shadows of the castle shortened to stumps as the sun rose to its highest point, leaving everyone melting to the point of exhaustion. Everyone, that is, except Sir Boast.

'How the hell can he do that?' Gwaine exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the aforementioned Knight; still swinging a heavy sword determinedly around his head in the distance, sparring fiercely with the tall, muscular and profusely sweating Perceval.

'I know!' cried Elyan, dropping to his backside onto the grass beside Gwaine, 'he's even wearing that ridiculous long coat of his, and he still hasn't broken into a sweat!' Geriant nudged him and smirked 'do you reckon that 'dragon' of his cursed him to wear it for all eternity?'

Elyan snorted softly into his hand as Gwaine barked 'Ha! As if!' 

'But seriously, look at him! No one could stand that heat! It's physically impossible! Well, no mortal man anyway…'

The implications of that sentence hung heavily in the air as the men silenced suddenly, glancing at the Knight in shock. Gwaine spoke almost hoarsely as he said '…magic? You think he's a sorcerer?'

But the accusation behind the joke would have to wait, as a tall, lean shadow fell over them, idly turning a glinting sword and eyeing them curiously. Looking up through shielded eyes, Elyan spoke crisply 'can we help you, Sir Boast?'

He raised his sharp nose slightly as he replied 'You can actually. I seemed to have …finished off my last opponent, and wondered if any of you gentlemen cared to fight?' As several disbelieving eyes turned towards a panting Perceval, lying heavily on the grass below, Gwaine raised a lazy hand and scoffed 'You must be joking! It's way too hot, my friend. Maybe another time…' 'Scared?'

Although Boast had turned away from the group, loosely inspecting the tip of his blade, a cool eye had trained upon them, a cold smirk gracing his lips as he uttered the one word any Knight worth his salt would never, ever refuse.

 

Gripping the edge of his sword tightly, Gwaine stood facing Boast in the thick circle of Knights around them, the testosterone charged air practically crackling around them as John stood rolling his eyes between them.

'Boast do you really have to…' 'John...' The Knight interrupted, eyes never leaving the armed man in front of him. 'Alright, alright! You, Sir Boast have challenged Sir Gwaine of Camelot to a battle of combat at noon today. On the count of three, you will fight, not to the death, not to wound but only until your opponent concedes. Here we go then, three…two…one…Fight!'

A series of deep cries echoed in the humid air as the two men circled each other hungrily, blades shining dangerously in the sun, dark, angry eyes meeting light and challenging. Suddenly a sword swung down, whipping through the air to meet Boasts at his hip, carefully blocked and circling back onto its owner, pushing against Gwaine. He edged his blade back, ducking it down and lunging forward as Boast arched away, dragging his sword round to the side of Gwaines face, pushing and pulling against each other, the clash of metal, of hot swords, quick feet and sweaty palms;

'That the best you got?' Gwaine called, tightly side stepping a well-aimed blade and grinning manically, 'did your little dragon friend teach you that?' Hooking his sword around the Knights, Boast brought the man's face to his; 'What?' 'Well…' he cried, bringing his sword away roughly, narrowly avoiding Boasts bent knee, 'we all know how those invisible dragons love their sword fights, don't we?'

The tiniest hint of colour flushed Boasts high cheeks as he struck again, metal clanging awkwardly as he moved. 'Jealously, Gwaine? How petty' he hissed back. 'Come on now, you can't really expect us to believe those fairy tales, can you?' The icy eyes hardened, fixing upon their target like a hungry wolf, cruel and cold, as their owner fought faster and harder against the man in front of them. Suddenly Gwaine dashed back, avoiding a nasty slash to the knee, but in his haste, slipped on the grass, falling into the air, landing on his back with a dull thud and a painful wheeze. He lay there panting for several moments before Boast's face swum into view. Holding the tip of his sword to his opponent's throat, he spat 'Conceding so soon? What a shame…' 

'Never' Gwaine gasped, clutching his stomach as he tried to stand up, ignoring the sharp blade pressing into his neck 'You…you made me fall. You made me slip!' he cried, ribs protesting petulantly to the movement. There was a confused pause as the Boast's brow furrowed slightly, 'you…you're a Sorcerer!'


	4. Chapter 4

No one spoke.

No one moved, no one even dared to breathe loudly in the few seconds that followed.

Sorcery was still a tricky issue in Camelot, even during King Arthurs reign, as so many people had suffered under Morgana's malicious hand. However, there was an unspoken rule in the court that if a sorcerer presented himself to the King and swore an oath of peace, such as Arthur's beloved manservant had done, they were allowed to reside in the Kingdom with no threat upon their life. But to accuse a man of sorcery, of using his power to belittle and beguile another, well, that makes things complicated.

'A sorcerer? Really? That's the best you can come up with? Please…' Boast sneered.

Still no one spoke.

Gwaine struggled to his feet, throwing an elbow heavily around Elyans neck and glared fiercely at his opponent, his own sword forgotten at his feet. John shifted his feet nervously, but said nothing.

Boast glanced around, one eyebrow raised in disbelief; 'Oh come on! You can't seriously believe him, I mean…' he squared up to Gwaine challengingly 'Never had you down as a sore loser, Sir Gwaine. A drunken, squalid daddy's boy, maybe, but a liar? Tut tut tut, King Arthur won't be happy...' he finished with a practised leer, cocking his head to one side dangerously.

There was a beat.

 

'So' Gaius said later that day, when Sir Boast was perched, wincing, on the edge of his table; 'what on earth could've made Gwaine attack you so, Sire? He's usually quite placid when sober…'

'Placid? Placid? He nearly tore him apart!' cried a furious John, pacing angrily past the physician before slamming his hands down on the wooden bench in front of a bruised and bleeding Boast; 'why couldn't you just leave him alone! You always do this! You always have to show off; always have to shout the loudest, don't you? I just…how many times do I have to tell you? Stop with the wit and the wise cracks, the obnoxious deductions! Just…stop. I'm tired of this. Of the fighting and the…and this. Falling asleep in either a prison cell or a physician's chambers, outside your bars or next to your bed…But do you care?' 'John…' 'You know, you are brilliant and amazing and I am in awe of pretty much everything you do…but it would be nice, just for once, not to end up running away in disgrace'.

Gaius stepped back silently as Boast rose carefully from the bench and said coolly 'Then don't bother. If working for me is too much for you…'

'I never said that. I just said that…'

'I intend to stay in Camelot for as long as it takes. You are welcome to leave any time, as, may I remind you, it is I that Moriarty hunts, not you.'

The servant stared determinedly down at the wooden table, white knuckled hands gripping the edge tightly. He spoke stiffly, begrudging eyes rising to his friend's; 'I'm not going anywhere'.

In all his years in Camelot, Gaius had witnessed many painful disputes in his chambers, and panicked aggression was nothing new to him, having been introduced to the emotions personified in the King and his ward, so he knew he must pick his next words carefully.   
'John…' Both men snapped their heads towards him, the setting sun illuminating Boasts colourful wounds, as if only just remembering he was there; 'John, Boast's going to be here for a little while longer. Perhaps it would be best to wait in his chambers until I've finished? Give you both a chance to…cool off?'

 

Fists clenched tightly at his side, John marched through the castle corridors, eyes tired and heavily with dispelled anger, twisting his way through the corridors until 'Ah Johnny boy. Just the man I wanted to see' Sir Gwaine called with a grin.

'Not now, Sire.' The Knight skipped in front of him and stumbled backwards as John walked saying 'Listen, I know I pushed it a bit far on Boast, but…' he threw his arm out, stopping the servant from rounding another corner; 'is he alright?'

At John's snort he continued 'Hey, I may handle a sword like a Lord but my fists aren't so classy, and they tend to get carried away.'

Folding his arms sternly across his chest, his companion replied dryly 'he'll be fine. Take more than a couple of punches to take him down…unfortunately'.   
Seemingly satisfied, Gwaine trotted into step alongside him, hands clasped pleasantly behind his back as he spoke; 'So go on then…' 'What?' 'Tell me about the dragon. You know, the one your Boast slayed the other day…'

There was a rough sigh as the servant muttered 'Oh good, he told you!'

'Oh he told me alright. Wingspan of twenty men, fangs glistening in the moonlight, great scaled tale pointed and deadly…only found in the 'Hidden' Forrest, obviously…'

'Look, it wasn't like that. I mean, there was a dragon! And it was pretty big, but he didn't slay it…' 'Aha!' '…all by himself!' finished John loudly, fists curling tightly. 'I was there too! I did help a bit, you know!'

'Ok…' interrupted the Knight coyly, 'so the Griffin?' There was a pause. John said nothing, but appeared to biting his tongue awkwardly in his mouth. '…the bear?'

'…'

The two men paused outside Boast's chambers, John's hand hovering nervously over the cool metal of the handle.

'…and I'm guessing he didn't cross five kingdoms in one month, just to catch a man who'd done him wrong?'

Although the dark eyes fiercely avoiding his shone with panic and humiliation, they revealed no trace of recognition, no defence, and no hope. Fighting back a mischievous smile, Gwaine gave a curt nod and bade goodnight to the crushed servant, practically skipping all the way home.

 

'Merlin…' Arthur gently shook the sleeping boy beside him before calling him again 'Merlin, wake up…'

Nothing.

Giving a short smirk to the tousle haired servant, he strode quickly across the room and with a loud bellow of 'Shake a leg, lazy daisy!' he whipped the curtains back, forcing sunlight to filter in the room, and successfully blind his companion.

Screwing up his face with a groan, Merlin gave a sleepy cry of 'Arthur!' and tried to hide his face under the pillow.

'Come on, Merlin, we've got work to do! It's a new day! Oh, and Gwaine wanted a word before breakfast so unless you want him to suffer your terrible morning breath, I'd get dressed' the King beamed at the affronted servant.

'Arthuuuurrr…'

'Merlinnnnnn' Arthur whined back, throwing himself into a chair at the table and tucking into the cooling breakfast laid out for him.

It took him nearly half an hour of grumbling and cursing, but eventually Merlin crawled out of the large bed and dragged some clothes on, before gulping down the last of Arthurs breakfast and heading off to a quick ruffle of hair and a coy nudge, the King and Servant separated once more, and Arthur was determined to maintain his cheerful mood for the rest of the day.

Until; 'We need a word about Boast', and with that...his day was ruined.


End file.
